Opposites
by grannyrags
Summary: Remus had been a damaged boy with poisoned blood and Sirius, full of laughter and strength, had cared for him. Now, a broken and hungover Sirius lays on Remus' sofa and Remus knows things are different.
1. Waking

Remus had been a boy of poisoned blood running under scarred skin, paper cuts from late night reading, and sad smiles. Sirius had been a boy of adventure and joy pumping through his veins, loud laughter at 3am, and childish grins. Yet their hands had fit so perfectly together, fragile fingers interloping with strength and security. A relationship that was built on a foundation of care and love from two opposites. But that was then.

Now, Remus looks at a ragged heap on his sofa. A man of jagged edges, sunken eyes, and laboured breaths. Sirius whimpers in his sleep and it sounds every bit as broken as his body is. Every bone juts out at painful angles. The person that once helped Remus recover from monthly transformations now lays recovering from a twelve year transformation of his own. With a sigh, Remus sits on the chair across from Sirius and remembers.

_Remus woke in an unfamiliar bed. The air, smells crisp from heightened senses of the beast, was sterile. The Hospital Wing._

_Every muscle ached and there was a particularly intense sear of pain across Remus' leg. He felt as though he'd been running for an eternity._

"_Remus," whispered a voice from his left. The voice was filled with friendliness and poorly masked concern. It was rough and low and Sirius'._

_Remus turned to look at the boy whose eyes were cautious and guilty behind a sheepish smile. _

"_Sorry, mate," Sirius muttered. "You were gone longer than usual so I went to look for you. You were bleeding a lot and my healing skills aren't quite up to scratch."  
"Nice wording," Remus smiled slightly at his friend's lack of forethought, a flaw that often provided arguments rather than the comfort of knowing Sirius wasn't stepping around Remus' affliction with over attentiveness as many did. Remus appreciated the change._

"_Ah, bugger. Sorry."  
"Quite alright," Remus shook his head. "You didn't have to bring me here, Sirius. I would've been okay. I've dealt with this on my own for long enough." _

_Sirius looked down, shrugging. _

"_That's what James said. I don't know. Maybe you shouldn't have to deal with it on your own all the time..." Sirius' eyes flitted to the window as he spoke. Remus didn't reply. _

_The silence between them stretched out for some time, interrupted only by the gentle snores of other patients and the rain on the window as it grew lighter outside. The pain in Remus' leg continued to attack at him but he did his best to ignore it. _

_Finally, Sirius stood. _

"_Feel better, Moony," he said with a smile. A strong hand patted Remus' thin shoulder. The warmth from the touch lingered with Remus long after Sirius had shut the Hospital Wing door._

–

"What am I doing here?" Sirius croaks, eyes wincing against the sunlight that covers his face. The light only serves to emphasise the deep circles, drawn in cheeks, and scarred soul behind his eyes.

"You showed up drunk, passed out on my sofa, and now you're asking the same question I've been wondering all night. Tea? Toast?"  
Sirius waves a bony hand in dismissal and turns away from the sun.  
"Perhaps it's for the best," Remus says. "I'm afraid that if I let anything edible anywhere near the vicinity of your mouth then you will projectile vomit all over my floor – and I only cleaned it yesterday."

Sirius grunts in response. Hungover. Remus sips at his own tea, watching the man before him struggle to sit up. Sirius' hair falls below his shoulder blades in knotted twists. His clothes, torn and muddy, hang off him with a sense of hopelessness. He shakes.

Remus places himself on the other chair, eyes never straying from Sirius' body. How could a man once so full of life look so haunted?

"Sirius, what are you doing here?"  
Sirius glances up, bloodshot eyes lacking comprehension. It's quiet for a moment while Sirius gathers thoughts that are trapped in the tangled web that is now his mind.

"Gets lonely being in hiding sometimes. Pent up. Sorry if my presence is an issue."

"It's not," Remus ensures him. "I'm glad you're okay." _As okay as someone who suffered Azkaban can be,_ he thinks. Sirius brings his knees to his chest and stares at the floor. Remus drinks his tea and watches over him. _Feel better, Pads._


	2. Nightmares

_Ripping. Tearing. Howling. There were screams, and splatters of blood. Death, carnage. Everywhere. The wolf ran, the wolf killed._

_Sirius watched his friend claw at the covers with sweat covered hands. Remus trembled and cried out. The nightmares ensnared him. They had grown more frequent and violent. Sirius climbed out of bed and neared the writhing boy. He took Remus' hand._

_Remus stilled slightly, the whimpering subsiding. His hand was clammy and cold and limp._

"_Moony, it's okay. It's just a dream," Sirius murmured, certain that he wasn't heard but knowing there was nothing else he could do. Remus continued shaking, sobbing, dreaming. Sirius stayed, stroking a warm hand over the boy's head, trying to soothe the troubled thoughts and fears of the beast._

–

_Parents wailed. Their children bled. Teeth shredding flesh. The beast stalked and pounded. Out of control. Not a trace of humanity within it._

_Sirius was woken by a yelp. _

_Remus was sat up, with wide eyes and a rigid back, tears dropping onto the bedsheets. Sirius was beside him within seconds, whispering meaningless words of comfort that could never take away the visions but maybe take away the loneliness. Cold, thin hand held by sturdy fingers that knew just when to squeeze. Remus' breathing slowed._

_Eventually, Sirius crawled under the covers beside him. Their bodies, one tall and defined and one lanky and awkward, curled around each other. Neither boy spoke but no words were needed nor wanted. Soon, both were still and asleep and together. _

–

_Three terror-stricken boys in bloody robes. Betrayed and beaten. Their friend, the beast, glared at them with red eyes. It growled. It launched. Soon, the boy with a black mane and stormy eyes lay dead. He'd tasted as beautiful as he looked._

_Sirius woke to find Remus standing beside him with an earthquake tearing him apart inside. Sirius took his arms with loving force and pulled him onto the mattress._

"_You're alive, you're alive, you're alive..." Remus' voice broke and shook and Sirius wrapped muscular arms around the skinny shoulders of his friend._

"_Moony. I'm here. I'm okay. You're okay. We're okay. It's okay, it's okay, it's okay.", Sirius repeated this mantra until the tears stopped falling and the tired green eyes peered into grey. And Sirius tightened his hold and chewed his lip, and Remus shuddered with both nightmare aftershock and feelings he could not recognise. _

_Then their lips collided._

–

The cottage fills with screams, the sounds of twelve years of torture, releasing with a volatile strength that forces Remus to his feet. He stumbles downstairs and finds Sirius curled in a ball, breaths shallow and short.

"Sirius, it's me," Remus whispers as he approaches. The man on the floor responds with a hand reaching weakly for him. Remus takes the hand and their narrow fingers lace awkwardly together. There's no rush of comfort like there had been those years ago when Remus dreamt of death. There is only cold against cold. It's as if they are two identical pieces of a puzzle trying to fit together.

"I keep seeing them, Remus," Sirius whispers. "Their cloaks. Their faces – or the lack of, I suppose. Sometimes I hear the rattling but it's only the wind."

Remus doesn't know how to respond. He recalls the only time Sirius had had a nightmare in Sixth Year, an event that had only resulted in the merciless laughter of Remus and their two other friends, James and Peter. Now, however, their friends are gone, and the only other companions are the dark and the silent passage of time.

"Shall we, uh, sit down?" Remus gestures to the sofa with his free hand. Sirius flops down in response, pulling the other man down with him. They sit for a while until Sirius barks out a laugh.

"Merlin's beard, Moony, look at us," his voice is strained behind the humour. Remus' childhood nickname hangs in the air, teasing him with memories of a better time. "Pair of old men cuddling up on this moth-eaten chair."  
"We're not that old, Sirius." Remus can't bring himself to use nicknames.

"Bloody well feel it," Sirius mutters, bitterness starting to show through.

"Well... I suppose I do have a bad knee. I'm going a bit grey too. Definitely decrepit," Remus says, trying lighten the mood. It appears to work as Sirius lets out a snort. Minutes later, the man beside Remus falls asleep, the slither of moonlight falling on his face making him look ghostly.

The grip on each other's hands doesn't slacken until many sleep filled hours later.

The following days pass with little physical contact beyond accidental knocking in the hallways and brushing of fingertips as plates and cups are passed. Sirius begins to gain weight thanks to the vigorous feeding regime enforced by Remus. His hair is cut and combed, new clothes are bought, and beards are shaven. Yet behind the improvements are troubled eyes.

Every night, Sirius attempts to muffle cries of terror to no avail. Every night, Remus appears to offer his hand and half hearted jokes. Every night, the men fall asleep together holding each other with entangled limbs.

Remus often finds himself longing for the days when their embraces had felt so natural, when they had fit so perfectly together. They had been an ideal balance. Padfoot, a wild and handsome boy who went through life carefree with wide eyes and cunning smiles. Moony, a quiet and damaged boy who tamed the other boy's heart with shy kisses and mock stern sighs. Now, they both hurt. Both have gone through years of struggling and come out shaken and lost.

"I miss being seventeen," Sirius announces over dinner one evening.

_Me too, _Remus thinks.


End file.
